


Us against the world

by SilverInk



Category: The Eagle of the Ninth - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: (kinda), Alternate Universe, Crush at First Sight, Hunter Esca, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, References to Monty Python, Romanes Eunt Domus, started out cracky & funny & then I started taking it seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-12-17 09:47:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21052364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverInk/pseuds/SilverInk
Summary: “What’s this?” Marcus demanded.“As you can see, Centurion, it says ‘Romans go home,’” the man said, meeting Marcus’s eyes and lifting his head a little.“No it doesn’t. What it says is, ‘people called Romanes, they go the house.’"Or, Marcus and Esca first meet when Marcus catches Esca painting the words ‘Romanes Eunt Domus’ on a wall...





	Us against the world

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in a huge writing slump this year, but I really wanted to finally post something again and this was something I started in the summer kinda as a joke inspired by Verecunda on Tumblr, so I thought it would be fun to actually get out! I didn't think it would turn out this long lol!

During the first few months that Marcus was in command at Isca Dumnoniorum, he did his best to build a reputation of being a fair and competent commander, though it was all he could do to get the Centurions below him to give him proper respect. He did his best to be confident and sure of himself despite not being taken entirely seriously, and the other officers gradually warmed to him. He was eventually able to build a greater understanding between them, and Drusillus, his second in command, was a great advisor in this.

At this time, there was very little trouble with the tribesmen from the village below the fort, except sometimes when they came to the fort to claim that one of the soldiers had done them some wrong, or to settle some dispute. Marcus did his best to be fair in these matters, punishing his men if they had stolen something from the tribesmen, and reprimanding the tribesmen if they had stolen anything from the soldiers. But other than that, relations between the fort and the residents of the town went smoothly.

Marcus would even go hunting once or twice a month with his friend Cradoc, and it was very good hunting, even as the previous commander had said. It was as they were returning from one of these hunting trips one day that Marcus first saw the graffiti painted on a building near the fort.

The letters were clumsily painted in red paint, and it took a moment of looking it over for Marcus to read it.

“‘Romanes eunt domus’?” Marcus said, turning to Cradoc. “What does that mean?” It didn’t make sense.

“Doesn’t it say ‘Romans go home’ in Latin?” Cradoc asked, and Marcus laughed.

“No, it does not.” They walked up to the graffitied wall, and Marcus asked, jokingly, “Why, did you write this?”

Cradoc laughed, such a rare thing that it came as a pleasant surprise. “No, I have no idea who did.”

When he returned to the fort, Marcus ordered someone to scrub the words off the wall, and then it disappeared from his mind in the rush of other things he had to do.

***

It wasn’t until many days later, when Marcus was returning to the fort after an evening of drinking at a local tavern to celebrate the birthday of one of his officers, that he remembered it at all. He’d drank more than he meant to and was leaning on Drusillus a little as they and the other officers walked back to the fort, laughing and talking loudly. They passed the same building that Marcus had seen with Cradoc, and there was more writing in red paint: Romanes eunt domus.

“I want to find out who keeps writing that,” Marcus half-shouted, half-laughed, “and have them punished for their awful Latin!” The officers roared with laughter, and joked that they’d stay up all night to catch whoever was doing this.

It turned out they didn’t need to, because Marcus caught the man in the act only a few days later. He’d gone into town on an errand and came back in the late evening as the sun was setting, washing the ground and the buildings in a golden river of light, and he saw a young British man standing near the wall where the writing had been painted before. The young man, also bathed golden and glorious in the sunlight, had a stocky, powerful build and russet colored hair that fell almost to his shoulders; he was holding a bucket in one hand and what looked to be a brush in the other. Marcus could see flecks of red paint streaking up his forearms.

“What’s this?” Marcus demanded, in the Celtic language, as he approached the man, and the man turned in shock as if he hadn’t heard Marcus coming. And Marcus was struck silent when he saw the man’s face — his face was serious and strong, with chiseled features and grey eyes that were bright and endearingly expressive.

“As you can see, Centurion, it says ‘Romans go home,’” the man said, meeting Marcus’s eyes and lifting his head a little.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, doing his best to appear unflappable. “No it doesn’t. What it says is, ‘people called Romanes, they go the house.’ If you want to say ‘Romans go home,’ it would be ‘Romani ite domum.’”

The handsome man opened and then closed his mouth, his brows drawing together. “The problem you have is that my Latin is incorrect?”

“Well, I don’t like it and you’d better not do this again after tonight, but the incorrect Latin was a problem.”

There was a pause where they just watched each other, and the British man searched Marcus’s face carefully. “You’re not going to arrest me, Centurion?” he asked incredulously after a pause.

Marcus shook his head. “I will give you one more chance to get it right, but if I catch you again, I will arrest you.” He had no idea why he was doing this, and the other man looked as surprised as Marcus himself felt. He should just arrest this man now, as he was likely a revolutionary of some kind. But Marcus let the offer stand, and the man still looked confused.

“Alright,” he said eventually, with a small, disbelieving laugh. “Thank you for that.”

“Of course,” Marcus nodded, giving the merest hint of a smile.

“‘Romani ite domum’ you said?” The man glanced at Marcus like he half expected to be arrested anyway.

“Yes. That’s right. Now don’t do it again, after tonight.” He turned back to the fort and left without another word.

He half hoped never to see the man again, because of course he didn’t want to arrest him, but he also very much did want to meet him again, somehow.

And the very next day, he did.

“Sir,” called a soldier, “I caught the man who’s been writing on the walls near the fort. ‘Romans go home,’ it says. He barely speaks a word of Latin, but the writing was perfect…” The soldier shook his head, and Marcus barely suppressed a laugh. “Anyway, I thought you should know he is in the cells.”

“Which cell?” Marcus asked.

“Number three, sir,” the soldier told him, and Marcus was glad that his higher rank discouraged the questions he could tell the other man had.

“Thank you, soldier.”

***

“So it is you,” said the British man from the night before, as Marcus approached his cell. He was smiling a little, like the expression was unfamiliar to his face, but it made him even more attractive, somehow.

“Yes, it is I,” Marcus laughed. “And, I’m sorry to see that you were arrested,” he added more seriously.

“It’s no fault of yours,” the man said dismissively. Then, “But, do you know how long I’ll be in here?”

“I do not, but I will make sure it isn’t long.”

“Thank you.”

Marcus grinned and gave him a quick nod. “I should go now, but I just wanted to come and—and see you.” He hoped the man couldn’t see the flush on his face as he made the admission.

“Thank you for that, Centurion,” the man murmured, smiling again. Marcus returned the smile.

“It’s Marcus, by the way,” he told the man quickly. “Marcus Flavius Aquila.”

The British man searched Marcus’s face for a moment, then said, “Marcus. Thank you.” He paused before adding, “I am Esca, son of Cunoval, chieftain of the tribe of Brigantes.”

With the straight-backed confidence and air of nobility Esca had about him, Marcus wasn’t truly surprised to learn he was the son of a chieftain. Perhaps his pride and lack of humility should have vexed Marcus, but he didn’t have it in his heart to be upset by this man, somehow. And he felt now that with just this exchange of names, they’d somehow become closer and that a barrier had been removed from between them.

***

For the rest of the time that Esca was in the cells, Marcus was far too busy to visit him. Still, it took only a few days before Esca was released, and then Marcus saw him briefly in the village. They weren’t able to talk, but their eyes met quickly and Marcus was glad to have seen him, to know that he was doing well.

The next time he and Esca met properly was a surprise. It was when Marcus and Cradoc had planned a hunting trip, and as Marcus approached Cradoc’s hut, he saw Esca there with Cradoc, and they were talking together in British. Their faces were intense, and their voices were quiet and urgent and quick so that Marcus couldn’t make out more than a few words. He stepped closer, but then Cradoc caught sight of Marcus and gripped Esca’s upper arm with a few more quiet words, and then the two of them fell silent, trying to act as if they hadn’t been talking about anything of consequence. Esca’s face was flushed and his eyes were bright and hot, and he wouldn’t look at Marcus for longer than a second, but Cradoc looked unbothered.

“I hope the Commander does not mind if my friend, Esca, joins us today?”

“No, not at all. We have met before.” He glanced at Esca again, and he met Marcus’s eyes now, with a tiny flicker of a smile. That queer, hot look was still in his eyes, and Marcus half wanted to ask what they had been talking about that upset him like this, but he didn’t think it was any of his business. He tried to put it aside and focus only on the hunting.

And Esca was a skilled hunter, Marcus found; he was the one who killed the deer they had been stalking, moving almost soundlessly and throwing his spear with deadly precision.

“I have been a hunter for most of my life,” Esca explained, as Marcus watched him. “When I lived with my tribe, I started learning to hunt and track soon after I could walk, and it is how I earn my living now.”

“That is very impressive.”

Esca grinned a little, shrugging. “Thank you,” he murmured, glancing down at the ground, and Marcus grinned too in surprised affection. The reaction was unexpected and sweet, and when Esca looked at him again, Marcus smiled back more softly.

From then on, Esca started going hunting with them more and more often, and Marcus found himself looking forward to their hunting trips even more than he had before. A few times, he and Esca even hunted alone, just the two of them, and Marcus looked forward to those trips the most.

***

On one of these hunts, the two of them were hunting deer in the thickly forested woods at the outskirts of Isca. They spent several hours tracking and waiting for the deer before they finally found it, and Marcus looked to Esca in excitement as they watched it. Marcus snuck up on their quarry as silently as he could, and he thought he could finally make the killing strike. Esca stayed behind him, and Marcus took a step forward but before he could throw the spear, a twig snapped under his foot as he shifted his weight. The deer’s head went up quickly with its ears pricked, and it looked toward them before turning and running back through the trees.

Marcus cursed quietly in frustration at having waited so long only to scare the deer away, but Esca only laughed. He showed Marcus how to move more quietly and avoid twigs on the ground, keeping close to his body and moving his arms and legs into the right position, so that Marcus felt every point of contact hot on his skin.

Eventually, when they were able to track down another deer, it was Marcus who made the kill.

When the hunting was done, they went to the baths. They both stripped out of their clothes, and at first Marcus thought nothing of it—he was used to the casual communal nudity of the baths, enjoyed it even—but then he looked up at Esca and saw the corded muscles of his shoulders and arms moving as he removed his tunic, and his strong thighs, and Marcus felt his breath catch. Esca glanced at him then, and Marcus almost thought he saw the other man looking at him the way he was looking at Esca, with a quick yet lingering glance down the lines of his body. But then the moment passed, as subtle and swift as the flickering of a candle, and Esca smiled easily like it had never happened.

In the _caldarium_, they soaked for a long time in the warm water, letting it relax their muscles, before Marcus stood and went to use the oil and strigil on his skin to clean his body. It felt good, and as the attendant ran the strigil over the sore muscles of his back and arms he couldn’t help sighing, feeling himself relax even more.

“I’ve been wondering,” Marcus asked slowly, as they were dressing again, “how did a chieftain’s son come to be living in Isca Dumnoniorum as a hunter?” He had been thinking of this for a long time now, even more so today, but hadn’t wanted to intrude into something that he felt was private and personal for Esca. But now, somehow, he felt that something had shifted between them enough for the question to not feel like stepping in without leave.

Esca’s eyes met his for a moment, then darted away to look somewhere over Marcus’s shoulder. He put his sandals on, and then he met Marcus’s eyes thoughtfully, still not speaking, and Marcus hoped desperately that he hadn’t read the situation wrongly and overstepped a boundary. He opened his mouth to apologize and ask Esca to forget he’d ever said anything, when Esca spoke.

“I have lived here in Isca for two years now,” he said softly. “Before that, I lived with my clan, the Brigantes. A year after I became a man, which happens in the sixteenth year in my tribe, we rose up against our Roman overlords, but even in our strong place our rising was beaten back.” He took a deep, slow breath. “My father, and my two brothers… they were all killed in battle, and even my mother died by my father’s sword rather than face what the legionaries would do to her. I thought I would die too, and I was badly wounded, but I was saved before death could take me. I was taken in and nursed back to health by a man and woman of a nearby tribe, and then when I was healed I came here to Isca, where some friends of mine have been living. I have lived here since then.”

For a while, Marcus was silent, shocked. “You were the only one of your family to survive?” he asked softly.

“Yes, I was,” Esca nearly whispered, his eyes full of pain, and Marcus bit his lip.

“I’m sorry for it,” he murmured, then shook is head. “What a story.”

“Do you think it was really so different to the many battles you’ve fought in?” Esca demanded sharply, and Marcus felt a stab of guilt as he realized the insensitivity of his remark.

“I’m sorry—” Marcus started earnestly, but Esca shook his head and gave him a small but genuine smile, his earlier fury gone.

“I know, Marcus. Of course you didn’t mean it like that. And anyway, that time isn’t good to dwell on. The time before that battle, all the time before, is good to remember.”

As they left the bathhouse and walked back into town, Esca told him about his childhood and living with his tribe, all the little details he could remember. He talked about his brothers and parents, rituals and festivals of his tribe, and memories of small things that mattered to him. Marcus listened with interest, and hearing the stories gave him a warm, glowing feeling deep in his chest that lasted the rest of the day.

***

Cradoc had agreed to let Marcus try his chariot team, and when the set day came, more than a week after the hunt with Esca, Marcus walked quickly and eagerly to Cradoc’s hut. As he approached, he saw Esca leaning against the doorway, seemingly waiting for him, and Marcus called out a greeting, grinning. Esca looked up, and his face was drawn and his eyes were red-rimmed, almost like he’d been crying. He was very pale, and he looked awful.

“Esca, what—” he started, as he reached Esca’s side, laying a hand on the other man’s shoulder, but didn’t know how to continue. 

“Marcus.” He moved to take Marcus’s hand in both his own, meeting Marcus’s eyes with startling intensity. His hands were warm and calloused and shaking slightly, Marcus noticed distantly as he tried to sort through his own confusion and worry. “Marcus, you must—”

He cut off, looking away, and Marcus squeezed his hands tightly. “What is it, Esca? What’s happened?”

He squeezed Marcus’s hand back, and looked into Marcus’s face again. “Nothing has happened. But—please, just be careful.” The words seemed to take much effort, and Marcus didn’t know what to say, dumbstruck and confused. Surely he couldn’t be so terrified by the upcoming chariot race…

“Be careful of what?” he managed finally.

Shaking his head, Esca squeezed his eyes shut, and Marcus saw him swallow hard. “I can’t—” he broke off again and pulled away from Marcus. “A good day to you,” he said in a rush, and the next thing Marcus knew he was gone, leaving him open-mouthed and staring after him.

***

It wasn’t until after the race, when he was inside Cradoc’s hut and saw the spear with the new decoration of heron feathers, that he knew what Esca was so afraid of.

There would be a revolt.

With the bad harvest season, the heron feathers on the old spear, and Esca’s fearful warnings, Marcus was sure of it.

Walking back to the fort, he felt troubled and chilled with worry.

***

After that day, he didn’t see Esca at all. He felt tense with anxiety for days; he trained the men harder, set extra sentries, and brought in extra food rations, and when he was woken in the night and the revolt finally broke, he felt as ready and prepared as he could be.

But nothing could’ve prepared him to see Cradoc in one of the chariots speeding toward them, and having to kill him even though he was almost, but not quite, a friend.

He thought it would kill him too when he dived toward the chariot.

His last conscious thought was regret that he hadn’t ever told Esca what his true feelings for him were, and that he’d never kissed Esca…

***

When he finally woke from the fog of darkness and pain, it wasn’t the fields of Elysium that he saw but the inside of his own sleeping cell. He was vaguely surprised at discovering that he’d survived, but then, surely he wouldn’t feel as much pain in Elysium as he had even in unconsciousness. The whole right side of his body throbbed horribly in what must’ve been the worst pain he had ever experienced, and he couldn’t stop a quiet groan leaving his mouth as it registered.

His right leg had been wounded badly in the chariot wreck, he learned from the surgeon, and it would be a while before he was back on his feet. In the mean time, Drusillus told him about everything that had happened since he’d been injured, and Marcus had a lot of time to think.

Mostly, he thought about Esca. He didn’t know if Esca was even alive after the battle, and he wished he could have some kind of sign either way, just so he could know what had happened to him. As the days dragged on—with the surgeon cleaning and re-bandaging the ugly wounds on his thigh every day and giving him herbs to help him sleep, and the relief force commander coming to hear Marcus’s report of the battle—with all of this happening, Marcus began to miss Esca desperately.

The days and weeks passed slowly, and Marcus was healing gradually. When he was able to sit up in bed and move with a little less pain, he got the news he’d been afraid of since the relief force had come: he would lose his command and be discharged from the military. He tried to take the news quietly, but when the man who told him had left, he pressed his forearm across his eyes and let himself cry. Though he had half expected this, it still meant the loss of what had been his dream since childhood, and Marcus cried, feeling miserable, his chest aching as if he would die of it.

He missed Esca more than ever now and was desperate to know what had happened to him, but the only thing he could do was lay there, feeling sick in body and heart. The very next day, as if conjured by the strength of his longing, Esca appeared in Marcus’s cell, looking concerned and vaguely anxious, but physically unharmed.

“Esca! You—you’re alive! Oh, how I’ve missed you…” Maybe he should’ve been embarrassed by the clear relief and joy in his voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Esca looked no less joyful, but oddly surprised; two armed guards appeared behind him, and some of Marcus’s joy dissipated. “Why does my friend have an armed escort?” he demanded, pushing himself to sit up higher, though it strained his injury. “Surely you don’t think he would try to hurt me?”

“Sir, we’ve been instructed to give an escort to anyone who comes here from the town,” one of the soldiers told him.

“Well, this man is no threat,” he told them. “You may leave and resume your other duties.”

Reluctantly, they did, with a murmured “Yes sir,” and a salute.

When they were gone, Esca visibly relaxed and approached Marcus’s bed, sitting on the chair near it. “I didn’t think you would want to see me,” he said softly, his eyes filled with concern as Marcus let himself sit back with a quiet, pained noise.

“Of course I wanted to see you! I’ve—I’ve been worried for you, and I hoped I’d hear some word of what had happened to you after the battle,” Marcus admitted.

Esca’s brows drew together in a soft look of confusion. “But—when I came a week or so after the battle, they turned me away. I thought you must either be dead—” he swallowed hard and shook his head, looking horrified at the mere idea, “—or you didn’t want to see me. And then I came again, and they said the Commander didn’t want visitors. But, I had to see you, so I tried one last time and—well, here you see me.” He gave Marcus a smile that was genuine, if a little strained, and Marcus swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“I didn’t know you had come at all, Esca. If I had known, I would’ve made them let you in.”

With a relieved smile, Esca let out a deep breath. “I was worried that once you figured out that I knew about the revolt beforehand, you wouldn’t want to see me again.” He paused, looking seriously and imploringly into Marcus’s eyes. “But I didn’t stay to fight, Marcus. I couldn’t. As much as I have wanted to help the townspeople be free of Rome, I couldn’t bear the thought of facing you on the battlefield. If I’d been forced to fight you…” he shook his head, shuddering, and Marcus shivered too, imagining that. “I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“I don’t know either,” Marcus whispered, horrified. “I couldn’t have fought you.”

Esca reached for Marcus’s hand and gripped tightly, strong and vigorous compared to Marcus’s present weakness, and Marcus was almost overwhelmed with a fierce wave of affection.

After a moment, Esca broke the silence. “Do you know when you will be back on your feet?”

Fresh grief flooded through Marcus at that, and he closed his eyes tightly against it. “I don’t know when I’ll walk again. But—I’ve been discharged, Esca. I’ll never be a soldier again, and I have no idea what I’m going to do—” He swallowed back the rest of the words, desperately trying to control himself, and he pulled his hand out of Esca’s to cover his face.

Esca’s hand moved to grip Marcus’s shoulder, warm and reassuring, and he stayed silent as Marcus got his bearings back.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” Esca asked, gentle and careful, as Marcus lowered his hands from his face. He stroked his thumb along the line of Marcus’s collarbone, and Marcus thought the kindness would break his heart.

“I have an uncle who lives in Calleva,” Marcus assured him, softly, and Esca smiled and let out a breath of relief, squeezing his shoulder.

“Thank the gods for that,” he breathed. “And, Calleva isn’t so far from here. I had thought you would go back to Rome, but I am glad you are staying in Britain, at least for now.”

“I am glad too,” Marcus said, smiling despite himself, and he realized it was true. Maybe with Esca there with him, it wouldn’t be so bad to stay here.


End file.
